Today, I saw a sky I have never seen
Grey and heavy cumulonimbus clouds hung low
over the dampened yellow flat lands
south of Philadelphia, flush with late autumn
Sometime early in afternoon,
on a day when half my clocks read 3:02
and the other mysterious ones 2:02
(we are suspended without time twice per year),
Breaks began to form in the lumpy blanket
of cumulonimbus
like pin pricks through a sheet of paper
or bullet holes through flesh (why
such a violent image? Because it is never far from the mind
here) Particle rich rays of light began
to filter down through these wounded clouds
fanning out over the mute earth
like an illuminated, opaque lamp shade
(it’s like those movies when the heaven’s part
and God’s love shines down on the salvaged)
One by one, pricks of sun peek out
until eventually the spell breaks and light floods
down as one movement. I look up, and the clouds
are craggy edged but soft, like
a flow of heavy ice dispersing.

I need a breather from this wondrous sky
and stop just shy of Delaware for gas.
The attendant is a rounded young man
He has a mischievous beard, and he ribs me
easily - this happens when your affections
are so outwardly obvious.
He tells me his name, but it flits quickly away
Names are like poetry in my mind: malleable and nimble
Then he asks me my college and my major.
“Temple and English” I shrug them both away
self consciously
“Hey, English is kind of important.
Not much in this world goes without language”
“No, I suppose not” I say to his unexpected wisdom
“In fact, I don’t think any of this”
his arms spread in an outward embrace
“exists without language”
He hands me my change and wishes me on my way
not knowing the tremors that await me
from the beauty of the arctic sky

It is impossible for me to quite tell you
what this sky was like
But let me just say
it is a sky I will never see again